A Lonely Christmas
by Janie Canuck
Summary: Christmas time has John Reese feeling alone and isolated. Even Finch seems distant. How does an ex-operative who is skilled at suppressing emotions deal with them when he has nothing to do?


**A/N:** I know it's a weird time of year to write a Christmas story but this one has been rattling around in my head and I had to get it down on paper. (OK virtual paper.) This is my first attempt at writing hurt/angst/comfort and I hope you like it. Reviews welcome as always and truly appreciated.

A Lonely Christmas

The cool December air was crisp as the tall man walked through the throngs of Christmas shoppers along the streets of New York City. Wearing a dark suit and woolen overcoat, one would expect him to blend in amongst the teeming crowds but to the keen observer, there was something about him that made him stand out. …Something different. Perhaps it was his height; with his six foot, two inch frame and upright military posture, he towered over most of the everyday New Yorkers flowing along the sidewalk. Possibly it was the way he never stopped scanning his surroundings, watchful eyes continuously moving, cataloguing faces, looking for patterns, instinctively taking note of all activities in the vicinity. Or maybe what set him apart was the long, agile, athletic stride; graceful to be sure, yet somehow feral, telegraphing danger, the lithe movement bringing to mind the image of a big cat stalking a gazelle on the African savanna. No. All were valid observations of course, but that wasn't it. To an astute onlooker, the tall man stood out primarily because he was so obviously separate from the others. Even within the milling mass of humanity, it was clear that he was alone.

John Reese paused in his walk down Fifth Avenue. It was a bit chilly but his warm woolen overcoat cut the wind and he was not uncomfortable. Without conscious thought, he scanned the people crowded around the Christmas displays in the storefront windows of a high end department store. He was restless; it was too quiet a day for him with no new numbers having been provided to Finch by the Machine. Perhaps this was because no one was in peril in New York City at the moment but Reese found himself wondering if, today being Christmas Eve, the seemingly living incarnate Machine was thoughtfully giving its creator and its main protector a much-deserved holiday. The tall man wore a somber expression; he would rather have been working and had spent most of the day pacing throughout the library, trying to find something to occupy his mind. Late in the afternoon a seemingly irritated Finch had insisted the ex-CIA operative take a couple of days off; the bespectacled man would call him if anything came up. Reese hated having nothing to do. Hoping to forestall the inevitable, he invited the older man to dinner at the diner, his Christmas treat, but Finch had declined, apparently he had several errands to run and no, he did not require Reese's company to get them done. Or maybe he just didn't want Reese's company. The younger man couldn't blame him. Considering what he was, the things he had done, it was impossible to imagine anyone wanting to be with him at this festive time of year. Reese knew that nothing could change that. He imagined Finch was happy to be rid of him for the holiday. He pictured Harold walking through the crowds, enjoying the elaborate window displays and contentedly shopping for whatever little trinkets he needed to pick up.

Reese found himself wishing his employer had invited him to tag along, even if just for a couple of hours. Normally comfortable with his solitary life, the tall man was feeling…what? Lonely? He contemplated the word for a moment, all the while observing the happy faces of Christmas shoppers toting their colourful bags as they rushed past him on their way home; he listened to the excited buzz of children as they laughed and sang and scampered after their parents. He found part of his mind longing for…what? Friends? Family? A normal life? The tall man shook his head, inwardly chiding himself for his thoughts. Get a grip, he told himself…you don't deserve any of it anyway.

Not wanting to go home to his empty loft, Reese continued to walk, no destination in mind, moving for the sake of doing something…doing anything. Christmas had become an insufferable time for him. The season brought maudlin feelings of isolation and depression and he despised himself for it. As the light began to fade, the tall man rounded a corner and looked up to see a towering Christmas tree, its limbs festooned with lights and decorations. He grimaced. Rockefeller Center – why had his feet brought him here? He gawked at the tree and his mind was agonizingly jolted back in time to a warm embrace and laughing eyes; lying wrapped in each other's arms on the second day of their Mexican tryst, Jessica had revealed to him her wish to spend Christmas of 2001 in New York City. It would be their first Christmas together and she wanted it to be special. Jessica had it all planned; she wanted him to take her ice skating, snuggle with her on a carriage ride around Central Park, hold her while they gazed at the giant tree in Rockefeller Center, and on Christmas Eve they would make love all night and welcome Christmas day with orange juice, champagne and kisses. It sounded perfect. He had promised her. Reese felt a sudden catch in his throat and his eyes glowed as he looked at the tree. After the towers fell, he left her behind…abandoned her. He left everything that was right and good in his life, and on that Christmas Eve, what should have been their first Christmas together, he'd been half way around the world. The ex-operative was suddenly struck with a visceral, painful stab of regret. He had promised her. If only…

The tall man closed his eyes and silently cursed himself for his pathetic, self-absorbed thoughts. You made your bed...stop being such an idiot. You have no right to feel sorry for yourself. He spun on his heel and stalked briskly out of the square, rebuking himself for his weakness. It was fully dark now and the wind was turning bitter. Oblivious to the cold, Reese ignored the taxis lined up on the curb and began to walk home. His own home…he remembered the pleasure he had felt when he first entered the apartment, realizing it was all his, a birthday gift from Harold. No one had given him a birthday gift in years and he had been touched by his employer's thoughtfulness. Now as he unlocked the door and entered, he felt none of that warmth. His home at this moment was a silent, empty loft, devoid of human companionship…a sterile place for sleeping and eating. The ex-operative sighed, walked to the kitchen and looked in the fridge; not too much to choose from. Reese briefly considered the leftover pasta but being that he couldn't remember exactly how long it had been there, decided against risking it. Maybe he should have gone to the diner anyway, even without Harold. Finally he turned away from the fridge, deciding he wasn't hungry anyway.

The ex-operative pulled out his phone and checked it hopefully, disappointed to see no messages were waiting. Heading to the bedroom area, he shrugged out of his suit and donned a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt. Barefoot, he wandered back across the loft, and pressed his forehead against one of the large windows, his right hand nestled above his head. He leaned there for some time, immobile, staring at the street below. It was getting late and there wasn't much activity in the park or on the sidewalk beneath him. It had started to snow and he tried to dredge up the joyous feeling vaguely remembered from childhood when they were blessed with snow on Christmas Eve. Nothing. It was just snow. No magic here - just another night alone.

Reese closed his eyes and reflected on the bottle of scotch in the cabinet above the kitchen sink. The thought of drowning his melancholy in an alcoholic haze was appealing. He walked towards the cabinet, opened it and pulled the bottle from the shelf. The ex-operative held the bottle for a long while, watching the lights from the streetlights below careen through the amber liquid and diffract into patterns swaying across the wall. He craved the bite of the liquor and the emotional numbness he knew from experience it would produce. But something stopped him; he wanted to lose himself in a booze-fuelled oblivion and yet, he hesitated. Hating himself all the more for even considering giving in to the temptation, he carefully replaced the unopened bottle on the shelf and closed the cupboard door.

Reese paced around the loft, checking and rechecking his silent cell phone. Soon he again found himself glued to the window, watching the occasional group of pedestrians wander by and the rare vehicle trundle past on the street below. It was late; he looked at his watch…three minutes past midnight… Merry Christmas, he thought to himself, bitterly wishing he had someone to say it to. Not so merry but let's be honest, allowing himself to think that this year might be different had been foolish. Idiot… He slipped out of his jeans, turned out the light and went to bed. Sleep, although elusive, finally came.

As the tall man slumbered, a genuine smile appeared on his face. In his dream, Jessica's blond hair swirled around blushing cheeks and her eyes sparkled as she twirled awkwardly across the ice, her ankles wobbly in the rented skates. She smiled and clasped his hands and he spun her around beaming and marveling at her beauty; she was breathtaking. She caught an edge and they fell in a heap of happy laughter and kisses on the ice surface. The dream changed abruptly and Reese's unconscious smile turned into a grimace. Now Jessica was skating with Peter, the smiles and laughter were gone. She had a frightened look in her eyes and he was manhandling her on the rink, annoyed with her clumsiness. She was begging him to stop and he grasped her arms roughly just below the shoulders and shook her violently. Tears were streaming down her beautiful face… A strangled cry escaped Reese's lips as the tall man jolted awake. He bolted upright in the bed, calling her name, ready to take her pitiful excuse for a husband by the neck and squeeze until the bastard couldn't hurt her anymore. His eyes fiercely glared around the loft and it took a moment for the sinking realization to hit that it was all just a dream. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head trying to erase the images.

Reese became aware of his cell phone buzzing insistently from its perch on the bedside table; he blearily wiped his eyes and picked the device up. Trying to make his voice sound normal, he answered, "Good morning Finch…"

"Mr. Reese", his employer cut in abruptly. "I need you to go to Hartford, Connecticut. I'm texting you an address. Please check out the residence and find out anything you can about the occupants."

Merry Christmas to you too…Reese bit back the comment. He looked at his watch…seven o'clock in the morning. It was unusual for him to sleep so late. Well at least now he had something to keep him busy and stop himself from wallowing in self-pity over another lonely Christmas. "You received a new number Harold? Okay, I'm on my way. What can you tell me about the case?"

"There is nothing I need to tell you, Mr. Reese. You do not require the details right now; just do what I pay you for…." The line was abruptly cut off. Reese stared at the silent phone in surprise, a distressed look on his face. Finch sounded so cold. What could he have possibly done to piss his boss off?

Reese hurriedly dressed, shaved, slid his pistol into the holster nestled against the small of his back and headed out into the brightening morning. …Christmas morning. He sighed…stop thinking about it, he told himself. It's just another day. His phone buzzed with a text from Finch and he made mental note of the address in Hartford. There was a black Impala waiting for him at the curb in front of the building, keys in the ignition. The tall man wondered if Harold had delivered the car himself that morning, then left without bothering to come up to the loft…Why did that thought hurt? He shook his head and started the drive to Connecticut, grateful to finally have something to do.

What would normally have been a two hour drive was slow as a result of the overnight snowfall and he arrived at the address on the outskirts of the city around ten o'clock in the morning. Reese tapped the tiny earwig concealed in his ear. "You there Finch?" he asked. "…I've arrived." Silence… The tall man looked at his phone and saw that he had no service. That's peculiar, he thought. There are not many places around here that don't have cell coverage. He exited the vehicle and cautiously approached the front door of the non-descript cinder block bungalow. It stood isolated at the end of a long tree-lined laneway, no other houses nearby, no line of sight to the road. The building had a bunker-like appearance; low slung roof, small windows enclosed with what appeared to be top of the line security bars and a substantial-looking fortified steel front door. It was clear who ever lived here was worried about their safety. Conjuring a good story in his head as to why he was there, Reese leaned towards the door and knocked. He stopped abruptly and his eyes narrowed when the door swung open under his knuckles, unlocked and ajar. The tall man drew his pistol and stealthily entered the house, pausing inside the doorframe to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The entrance foyer was completely bare, devoid of any furnishings, no pictures on the walls, and the closet unused. A glance into the living room beyond confirmed the same emptiness. There was nothing to indicate that the building was occupied at all…so why had Finch sent him to an empty house? Reese stepped away from the door, his pistol leading the way into the hallway. Abruptly he heard a loud bang as the door slammed shut behind him and instinctively he spun his body around, rolling across the hardwood floor and out of the potential line of fire. In a crouched position he waited, holding his breath for several seconds, his gun leveled at the entrance, but no one appeared. The ex-operative cautiously regained his feet and approached the now closed front door. He grasped the handle but the metal knob came away in his hand; Reese pushed hard on the steel panel but the door was sealed tight and refused to move. He tried to jimmy the knob back into its socket but it seemed to be the wrong size for the opening and the locking mechanism wouldn't budge. Reese grunted in frustration. After several minutes of alternately shoving, pulling and shouldering the steel door, the ex-operative came to the realization that he was locked in. He checked his cell phone – still no service. He tapped the earwig again but it was clear that his employer wasn't listening. Goddamn it….

It took the operative over three hours to force his way out of the impromptu prison. Using a poker from the fireplace in the vacant living room, and with a great deal of brute strength and swearing, he finally managed to pry two of the security bars from their housings on the largest of the bungalow's windows giving him just large enough of an opening to squeeze his broad shoulders through. It was a tight fit and he tumbled awkwardly over the window sill, landing in a large dead and very prickly raspberry bush. Hell. This day was just getting more and more exasperating. He jumped in the Impala, started the engine and headed back to New York.

Almost immediately, the earwig chirped in his ear and he heard his employer's voice. "Mr. Reese, are you there?"

"I'm here Finch", he said. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to contact you for hours." There was an angry edge to the operative's voice.

If he heard it, the older man did not react. "You had me worried when I didn't hear from you John." Funny, Reese didn't detect the anxious tone he was accustomed to hearing in his boss' voice when the man was worried. Finch continued. "Sorry for going silent on you; there must be a communications issue at that location. So, what did you find?"

"Nothing Harold…" Reese's frustration was evident. "There was absolutely nothing there - an empty house in the middle of nowhere. And somehow I got myself locked into the goddamned place…took me over three hours to break out. It was a complete waste of time. What did you expect me to find? …and what the hell is this all about anyway?"

Ignoring the operative's obvious annoyance, Finch went on. "I'll give you a full briefing when you get back, Mr. Reese. I'll meet you at your loft." Abruptly the line went dead.

Reese tapped the earbud again. "Finch! …I want to know right now!" No response; Reese rolled his eyes and actually growled. Apparently their 'communications issue' was at the whim of his employer. He pushed the accelerator to the floor and gunned the engine. He had a few choice things to say to his boss about wild goose chases and insufficient information when he got home. Eventually the tall man's anger waned as he drove back to the city and he inevitably found himself thinking about the season again. He couldn't help but notice all the festive decorations on the houses, the jaunty snowmen with their carrot noses dotting some of the lawns. He tried unsuccessfully to smile at a bunch of kids singing carols on the corner at a red light when they waved to him, big grins on their faces. He found himself feeling gloomy again…what a disaster the day had been…and he couldn't help but wonder if Finch had sent him on a useless errand just to keep the moody agent out of his hair on Christmas day.

The roads were somewhat improved and he pulled up to the curb in front of his building just over two and a half hours later. Despite numerous attempts to contact his employer, the comm link remained inexplicably dead. He stalked through the entrance and trudged up the stairs to the fifth floor. When he arrived at his apartment, the door was still locked and there was no light visible underneath. It appeared that Finch wasn't there yet – goddamn it! Another lonely evening was in the offing and he closed his eyes and rested his forehead for a moment on the doorframe before sighing and turning the key in the lock. The ex-operative stepped over the threshold and became instantly alert in the dim interior. His well-honed senses were suddenly broadcasting a warning – someone was in his apartment and it couldn't be Harold…the bespectacled man would surely have turned on the lights. Reese's right hand shot to the holster and the pistol was half way out when the lights snapped on a he heard a trio of voices yell, "Surprise!"

How he managed not to draw the gun he wasn't sure. He stood open-mouthed in the doorway, completely shocked at the sight before him, his right hand still tucked under his suit jacket gripping the butt of the pistol. A large Christmas tree dominated the loft, beautifully decorated in lights and tinsel. There were several brightly wrapped packages under its branches and he could smell the aroma of turkey roasting in the oven. Pine garlands hung over the banisters and there were even four stockings, overflowing with trinkets, pinned to the wall. Finch stood in the center of the apartment, a hopeful smile on his face. As his eyes moved across the room, Reese saw Carter beside the tree, grinning expectantly; even Fusco was there, a mug of beer in hand and a welcoming albeit uncertain look on his face.

Carter approached the obviously rattled ex-operative cautiously, and gently reached behind his back, lifted his hand off the firearm and snapped the holster closed. "It's okay John, it's alright. We just wanted to do something special for you." He was silent…well, speechless actually… the expressions on his face rapidly moving from utter astonishment to something darker, almost desolate. Carter frowned, concerned that they had pushed him somewhere he wasn't ready to go. "It's okay John", she repeated. "…really, it's just a surprise party…for you…for Christmas…"

Reese looked into her eyes and despite his misgivings, he didn't see pity or charity, he saw warmth, he saw friendship. Casting his eyes around the apartment, he saw the same look on Fusco's face, genuine and honest. When his eyes met Harold's, the older man's smile broadened and his affectionate expression sent Reese's mind reeling back in time to an image of his own father's face. A time when he felt protected and…and loved. A flood of emotions washed over him, unbidden and uncontrollable. The tall man felt his eyes well up with tears and he turned away, embarrassed. Carter glanced towards Finch, silently imploring him to do something. The bespectacled man limped to the tall man's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "John, I know how difficult this time of year is for you. I understand why you have felt so alone and isolated. You're not alone anymore…please, let us show you that…"

Carter came over and sympathetically rubbed the agent's back. "He's right John. Please, come in and enjoy the evening with us. I'm sorry if this is too much…the surprise part was all my idea…"

The ex-operative let out a long, shuddering breath, fighting to regain some level of control over his emotions. With Finch's gentle urging, he slowly turned around and Carter felt her heart break when she saw the tear-filled blue eyes. Reese finally found his voice. "I…" The tall man blinked away the waterworks and cleared his throat. "I don't know what to say…don't know what I'm supposed to do…"

Fusco surprised everyone with his next remark. "What you're supposed to do is stop blubbering like a little girl, take off your coat, grab a beer and join the party…"

Carter glared fiercely at her partner, angry that he seemed so oblivious to the ex-operative's clear emotional turmoil. Fusco ignored the look and continued. "So you've had a rough time before, so what? Just means you've gotta take the chance to make up for it now… It's Christmas and we've all been working our asses off. We deserve some R & R, some good food and to spend time with friends. Don't screw that up for the rest of us with all this touch-feely crap...okay?"

Contrary to Carter's fears, Fusco's seemingly insensitive comments seemed to be just what the tall man needed to hear. A tentative smile appeared on Reese's face; he raised his head and regarded Fusco with a grateful smirk. "Wouldn't want to ruin your party, Lionel", he said, that familiar sarcastic tone they all knew so well back in his voice. "I imagine you don't get invited to many…"

Fusco grinned, silently breathing a sigh of relief. "Yeah, well…we can't all be social butterflies." The portly detective took a swig of his beer then held the glass up. "Can I get you one?"

"Sure Lionel, that would be great", Reese answered. Carter gazed at the two men, surprised to realize that Fusco apparently understood male emotions far better than she did. She smiled at her partner as her eyes caught his and mouthed a silent 'thank you'. Fusco nodded almost imperceptibly, a grin on his face, and turned to get their anxious guest of honor a beer.

Reese shrugged out of his coat, entered the loft and tentatively accepted a beer from Fusco. He took a sip, closed his eyes and savored the taste. The ex-operative opened his eyes to see Finch moving towards the kitchen and expertly reached out and seized the bespectacled man by the neck, pushing him backwards against the wall. Finch yelped in surprise; his employee's grip was firm but astonishingly gentle. "Harold…you sent me on that wild goose chase so you could set this all up, didn't you?" Reese growled. The tall man's eyes were smiling.

"Well, we had to get you out of the way while we got everything ready John." Finch smirked. "Sending you on a road trip to the safe house I recently purchased in Hartford seemed like a good tactic. The problem was how to keep you there for a few hours. You must understand, figuring out a means of keeping you captive, even temporarily, took a great deal of planning."

Reese's eyes widened. "So the steel door…bars on the windows…? That was all part of the set up?" The ex-operative smiled, genuinely amused now. "What if I hadn't been able to get out? It's hard to have a surprise party without anyone showing up to surprise."

"No worries Mr. Reese". Harold said. "The door would have opened on its own about 10 minutes after you managed to get out of the window. The dead bolt was actually a sophisticated timer-lock."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dinner was superb and Reese couldn't remember the last time he felt so stuffed. After presents were opened and the apple pie devoured, they sat amiably in the loft, swirling wine in their glasses, with Fusco and Carter laughing and telling stories. Even Finch told one or two, although the ex-operative was pretty sure they were fabricated. The tall man was quiet, appreciating the banter from the others, still not quite believing what was happening. He was actually enjoying a Christmas with friends, people he trusted… feeling like he truly belonged, like he was part of something. It felt good. He stood and raised his glass.

"I'm not very good at this…" Reese started. His voice sounded nervous. "I'd like to propose a toast…" Finch, Carter and Fusco each stood up and lifted their drinks in the air and waited for him to continue. "Um, first I wanted to say thank you…you know…for the party…for being here…um, with me", he stammered. "It means a lot…I haven't had anyone I could call a 'friend' for a very long time and I…um…" The tall man's voice faltered slightly and they could hear a catch in his throat. Reese's eyes welled up and he blushed, feeling embarrassed yet again by the unwanted display of emotion. He tried and failed to continue his toast.

Finch reached over and placed his hand on his employee's raised forearm and smiled affectionately. "I've got this John…" he said. Reese blinked and nodded gratefully. Finch raised his glass, "To friends…" he said simply.

"To friends" they all repeated and raised their glasses to their lips.

John however, didn't drink. He raised his glass determinedly, aware of but no longer embarrassed by the tears in his eyes. "And to not being alone…" His voice broke again and his friends waited patiently for him to continue. "To not being alone… anymore", he finished firmly. They drank. There was an awkward silence.

Fusco broke in, "Yada yada…and God bless us everyone!" He grinned. "Enough touchy-feely already…who wants another beer?" John smiled…

The end


End file.
